The world wore a heavy iron helmet. Rain shot down like a thousand warriors’ daggers. The sky would fall down and crash through the thatched roof of the house that stood vigil on the cliffs above the sea. It was a day unlike that day so long ago; when the sea kissed the sunny shore as she held their young child with one hand and waved good-bye to his father with the other. Twenty years had passed since her husband had been sent away to war never to return. Their young son was now grown with a wife and a young boy of his own. She, Dílseacht, no longer a young wife, but an old crone.
As suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped. Dílseacht stooped and gently shook the young boy who was asleep on a bed of straw. She helped him up. “Come,” she said,”Tis time to find your father and mother in the field.” As they stepped out, their old hound arose and fell into step along side of them. As they walked along, she spied a figure ahead in the mist. “That must be your father coming,” She said to the boy. Yet, the figure was broader at the shoulder and chest, his swagger, though slower, reminded her…But, no. She covered her eyes with her hand and looked again. She shook her head. Just a dream. The old hound ran ahead of them yapping into the mist.
She found her son tending to the pigs. His wife was milking the cows. The boy ran to his father. Dílseacht began rolling up her sleeves when the old hound caught her attention. He was running out into the field, going in circles and barking. As if to greet his master, Dílseacht thought. His master! She flew off like a bird into the field. Her son and his wife looked over to see a tall, aging warrior swoop her up into his arms. Their mouths parted and came crashing together. The taste of a kiss left twenty years ago lingered still. They separated briefly, salty tears welling up and pouring from their eyes. He nuzzled his nose into the crevice of her cheek. She pulled him closer into her, “I didn’t believe we’d meet again until the banquet in the other world.” Their bodies crushed together, welding into one. They kissed again and again, as the sea pushes away from the shore only to return. Their son started toward them. A gentle touch on his arm by his wife stayed him.
The son, his wife, and young boy stood watch as the tears of the reunited lovers streamed down and formed a rivulet to the sea. Their legs locked together and seemed to root down into the ground. Their arms entwined forming the twisted orange limbs of a tree. Their hair entangled and grew into small, green oval leaves with budding white blossoms. The old hound laid himself down underneath the myrtle tree and slept an everlasting sleep.
yeah, Write on Edge is back! I was afraid I wouldn’t make it this week, but after such a hiatus I wanted to get my linky up. The prompt this week made me think of faithfulness and loyalty. Which lead me to Penelope from the Odyssey, but being that I am on a celtic bent lately I decided to mash it up with celtic setting and symbolism. I am no expert so comments are more than welcome.